Long Black Curl by Alex Bledsoe Page B

Elgin said contemptuously. “He ain’t nothin’ to us now.”
    â€œHe can’t sing,” Claudia agreed, “and now he can’t play. We don’t have to bow down to him no more.” She pulled Deetzy close and grabbed Ida Mae’s hand. “We don’t have to keep our girls away from him.”
    â€œWe can’t leave him there,” Mandalay said.
    Elgin put his foot on Rockhouse’s shoulder and pushed him outside enough to close the door. “The hell we can’t.”
    Mandalay turned to Luke. She didn’t have to say anything; the boy said, “Get out of the way, Dad,” and took one of Rockhouse’s arms. Mandalay took the other, and they dragged him into the living room. Mandalay shut the door.
    Rockhouse rolled onto his back. Spittle frosted the corners of his lips. He wore no coat, and his clothes were stiff with frozen sweat and snow.
    â€œHow the hell did he get here?” Elgin mumbled. “And what’s wrong with him?”
    â€œHe walked,” Mandalay said.
    â€œDown from the mountain?” Luke asked in disbelief.
    â€œThere’s no night wind for him anymore,” she said. “No riding it where he wants to go.”
    â€œJesus,” Claudia whispered. The climb down was treacherous on a good day, and in this snowstorm, with no coat or other protection, it would be a nightmare. He was luckier than he knew to reach this house alive.
    Mandalay looked around at the Somervilles. “I know how you feel about him, but look at him. He’s nothing now but an old man who can’t talk, and who’s seriously hurt. Claudia, can you get me a cloth soaked in warm water? And Ida Mae, fetch me a blanket or a comforter.”
    As they went to their tasks, Elgin said, “He ain’t stayin’ here. You can take him with you when your ride gets here.”
    â€œI will,” Mandalay said.
    Elgin spit, not directly on Rockhouse but definitely in his general direction.
    Luke asked quietly, “Who do you think cut off his fingers?”
    Mandalay shook her head. “I don’t know yet.”
    Headlights raked across the front curtains, and the squeak of brakes came over the wind. Then a shadow passed in front of the light, and someone knocked firmly on the door.
    Elgin opened it. Darnell Harris stood there, dressed in insulated coveralls, his bearded face guarded and wary. “I’m here for my daughter, Elgin.”
    â€œRight here, Daddy,” Mandalay said from the floor.
    Darnell stared down at her, at Rockhouse, and then around at the gathered Somervilles. “Looks like I missed the party,” he said at last.
    â€œAin’t no party,” Elgin said. “Take your damn daughter, and take this sack of shit with you.”
    Darnell saw by the look in her eyes that Mandalay had already decided. He nodded and said, “All right. Hold on, I need to go get something.” He turned and walked away.
    â€œAnd hurry up!” Elgin called after him. “We’re gonna have more snow in the damn house than we do in the yard!”
    A moment later he returned with Bliss Overbay. Mandalay immediately stood and let the other woman, a professional EMT, kneel beside Rockhouse. She checked his pulse, examined the wounds on his hands, and brushed the hair back from his forehead. “We need to get him out of this cold,” she said.
    â€œYeah, that’s what I’ve been telling you,” Elgin said.
    Mandalay took her coat from the wall hook and stepped back into her still-damp tennis shoes. “Thank you, Mrs. Somerville. I appreciate y’all taking me in out of the storm. I’ll get these clothes washed and give them back to Luke at school.” At the door, she stopped in front of Luke and looked right into his eyes. This time he looked back. “Thank you,” she said softly.
    He nod-shrugged, and shyly smiled.
    Then she stepped aside while her father lifted Rockhouse